Language of Love
by gothicbutterfly95
Summary: During the honeymoon, Maria asks Georg to teach her some French. And finds that love extends to far more than just a language.


"That was amazing!" Maria gushed as she scampered through the door of their honeymoon suite after her husband.

"I'm glad you liked it darling," Georg commented with a smile.

"Oh I did," she continued excitedly. "The singing was wonderful, and the dances were gorgeous. And everyone looked so happy."

From where her voice was coming from Georg knew his wife had moved from his side.

He looked up to find her on the couch in front of the empty fireplace. Her head was turned; she was almost staring behind her, out to the city of Paris visible past the small balcony outside.

Paris was nothing like anything Maria had ever seen before. After a month-long engagement, she had finally accepted that she was not dreaming; that Captain Georg von Trapp really did love her, but even then she couldn't have predicted that her honeymoon would look like this.

She had expected Georg to whisk her away for a week-long stay in one of Salzburg's, or possibly Vienna's nicer hotels. So when they left the reception and he handed her train tickets to Paris; announcing they would be away for over a month, she had been, in the best possible way, shocked.

But the city had been everything she had imagined. And her honeymoon itself had been far beyond anything she could have possibly fathomed.

Yesterday; their first full day in Paris, they had been to the Eiffel Tower and the Lourve, but today, they had stayed in the suite until well into the afternoon, barely straying from the bed.

Maria couldn't remember having a better morning in all her life.

While she had never been particularly timid about being intimate with her Captain, she was now becoming more accustomed to that side of her marriage. And the more she became used to it, the more wonderful it became and the more of it she seemed to want.

But she was still as practical as she had always been. As much as she loved being with her husband, Maria was determined not to waste her time in the city of love, so she had insisted that they at least go out to dinner.

Walking out from the restaurant they had come across some street entertainers, and had spent the better part of an hour there watching them. Maria had been entranced by the performance that she had barely glanced at her Captain at all. If she had, she would've noticed that his attention was on, not the musicians or the dancers, but the woman in his arms.

* * *

A crackling sound drew her mind from the daydream and her vision back to the room. Her husband was now kneeling by the fireplace, stoking the flames.

"Are you happy?" he asked, setting down the fire iron and rising from the floor to sit beside her on the couch.

"Oh yes," she cried. "So very happy."

"I'm glad," he smiled. His left hand rested on her waist, while his right caressed her cheek.

"Have I told you how beautiful you are?" he asked.

"Not since the taxi ride home," she teased, her voice soft.

"Well you are," he announced, leaning in to kiss her neck. " _Schöne… belle…_ beautiful… _bellissima… lijepa_..."

"H-How many languages was that?" Maria stammered. Though she didn't recognise most of what had been said, she knew her husband had been speaking in multiple languages. But she had been so absorbed in the chain of kisses he had been leaving on her skin that the words themselves had blended into one continuous stream.

"Five," Georg answered. "German, French, English, Italian and Croatian."

"It's so…beautiful," she sighed. "French especially; it sounds so romantic."

As much as she was proud of her Austrian heritage, Maria had to admit, German was a rather harsh language. Especially when compared to the French that she had been surrounded by the past two days, and would be in contact with for the next month.

"It's not called the language of love for nothing my dear," he pointed out.

"Say something else to me," she sighed dreamily. "In French."

" _Je t'aime ma chère_ ," Georg said tenderly.

"I love you my darling," he translated at his wife's inquisitive look.

" _Und Ich liebe dich_ ," she replied in German.

They leaned in towards each other, their bodies pressing even closer. His lips found hers, peppering her mouth and face with kisses that were both tender and frenzied. As Maria kissed him back, she was vaguely aware that she was now more or less lying on the couch, pinned under her husband.

They finally broke away when air was becoming scarce, and when they did, they lay in silence; their arms around each other, watching the fire.

"Georg," Maria whispered finally. "Would you teach me some French?"

"Of course," he replied. Georg was somewhat surprised, but incredibly pleased that Maria wanted to learn some French. He had spent the entirety of the past two days looking at his wife. And where she had enjoyed the street performance that evening, and could articulate why, he could barely remember that it had happened.

He loved being back in Paris, but mostly because he was seeing it through the eyes of his wife. Anything he could do to help her get more out of this experience, he would do gladly.

"Now?"

"Yes please."

"Alright then," He shifted slightly so they were now both sitting upright rather than reclining as they had been a moment ago. "As you always say my dear, let's start at the very beginning."

Maria giggled. Georg smiled at her. "What do you know?" he asked.

" _Bonjour_ is 'hello', right?" She had picked up that one quickly enough. It was the first thing one heard when they went anywhere. "And 'goodbye' is _Au Revoir_." She'd used that line in the children's song at the party.

"Yes," he said. "You are quite correct. _Brava Madame_."

Her curious expression had returned.

"I said 'Well done Madam,'" Georg informed her.

"That's about it," she admitted sadly. "And now _brava_."

"Yes," he noted. "But you should know that _brava_ is only used when referring to a female. For males, you say _bravo_."

"So, the same as in German?" she clarified. "With the genders?"

"Yes exactly," Georg nodded. "Very similar. Now let's start with another common word. In French, 'yes' is _oui_."

For the first time since the honeymoon began, Maria felt uncomfortable. She knew it was silly to be uneasy about a single word, but she was completely lost. She'd never heard a sound like that, and was beginning to wonder exactly what she had gotten herself into, asking Georg for lessons.

"Vuh, vuh, vee…" she stammered.

Georg chuckled good-humouredly. "Yes it is rather hard. We don't have that sound in German, now do we?"

Maria shook her head.

"To make that sound you have to blow yourself up."

Maria was sure she must have looked positively aghast, because Georg was chuckling again. But she didn't blame him. Though he had eased her worries during their engagement, and never failed to make her worthy and valuable, she couldn't change her poor beginnings, free of the sort of aristocratic education her husband would've had.

It wasn't his fault that the language had a sound she'd never heard before.

"Here; I'll show you what I mean," he said, his voice gentle. "Take a big breath in and then let it out. Like this:" He drew in breath and let it out, almost as if he were blowing out candles on a birthday cake. " _Oui_."

Maria copied her husband, inhaling deeply, and then exhaling.

"Vee."

She tried again. And again.

But after several tries it was clear no progress had been made. She was very clearly saying 'vee'.

"Let's see if we can make it easier," suggested Georg.

"How?"

"Break it down," he said. "Don't try to say _oui_. Just try to say 'wh'."

Maria grimaced. She didn't see how that would help, but she knew that she couldn't very well start with the end of the word. She inhaled again and, upon exhalation, let forth a long stream of sounds: "Vuh, vuh, vuh, vuh."

She sounded very much like a panting dog.

"Aargh!" she wailed. "Maybe you should just do the talking." She was sure her voice wouldn't do the language justice the way her Captain's did.

"Why don't we try something different?" Georg proposed tentatively.

Maria, rather out of breath, nodded slowly, but enthusiastically.

"No is much easier," Georg continued. " _Non_."

" _Non_ ," Maria replied flawlessly.

Georg smiled and nodded.

Maria smiled back. After all the trouble she'd had trying to say the French word for yes, or even just the sound it contained, finding a word that was this simple made her feel proud, and far more accomplished than it would've on any other occasion.

"How does this help us?" she countered. "I've got that one. That brings us back to vuh, vuh, vee."

"Not necessarily," her husband replied. "Let's not worry about that now, okay?"

* * *

They continued their lesson for some time. Quite soon Maria had grasped the French words for 'me', 'you', 'please', and 'thank you', knew what to say to introduce herself as well as the first seven numbers. They had stopped at eight, which had proved to be a problem; containing the same 'wh' sound from yes.

"Well, at least all the children are covered," she joked brightly.

"Yes indeed," Georg chuckled. "Now why don't we move onto some phrases?"

If Maria wanted to learn how to speak French, even an amount this small, words on their own wouldn't get her very far. She had mastered every word he'd given her since _oui_ almost instantly. He had no reason to believe she would have any trouble with phrases, provided the 'wh' sound did not appear.

"They will be no sounds you haven't heard," he promised, noticing the worry in her face.

"Okay..."

Knowing his wife, he decided, once again to start at the very beginning. Of the day, that is.

"Let's go over how to order your tea in the morning," he began. Though she was proving to be a star pupil, Georg didn't want to make this harder for his wife than it needed to be, and decided to tell her how to order a cup of tea to her preference; with milk and sugar. "You would say ' _S'il vous plaît un thé au lait et sucre_.'"

 **"** _S'il vous plait…"_ Maria repeated, slowly and carefully. _"Un thé au lait et sucre."_

"Coming up right away Madame," Georg announced theatrically, leaving Maria to fall about laughing at her husband's antics.

Georg waited until the laughter had subsided before continuing: "And your breakfast would be ' _un crossiant au buerre et confiture.'"_

Once again, he had customised the sentence for Maria. When she only had butter and jam on her croissants, he didn't see a point in teaching her any surplus words.

" _Un crossiant au buerre et confiture,"_ Maria said. Her voice was faster than before, but still giving her enough time to concentrate on what she was saying.

"Is that right?"

"Yes darling," Georg assured her. "You have done marvellously. _Brava_."

* * *

After repeating those two sentences a couple more times, they decided to finish the lesson for the time being; though neither made to move from their positions on the couch.

"Thank you," Maria whispered. "For everything."

He had given her so much more than a few words from a foreign language. He had given her more even than love. He had helped her find the life she had been born to live. He had constantly told her she had saved him in many ways, but Maria was now realising he had saved her just as much.

"You are most welcome, my love."

Georg cupped her chin and kissed her forehead, before extricating himself from his wife's hold and standing.

He extended a hand out to her.

" _Coucher avec moi?"_ he asked.

Maria didn't understand the words, but her husband's eyes told her exactly what he meant. She gazed back at him with the same love and devotion, inhaled slowly and uttered one word:

" _Oui_."

* * *

 **This story was partly inspired by Maria von Trapp's appearance on Julie Andrews' TV Show (if you've seen it, you know what I did).**  
 **Apologies if any of the language translations are wrong. The only language mentioned I have studied is French, but I'm still no expert.**


End file.
